pianoballadswiftie

Mannat

just another person on this hellsite | 21 | Stream Red TV

53 posts

Batler

Desc: Alfred Pennyworth is looking for a new butler to replace him in the daytime- he needs someone softer and well equipped to deal with Master Wayne, of course. He sends out an open application, and in walks you, a lower class citizen of Gotham, holding onto your last hope to make some money. Fluff and angst, no spoilers for The Batman although it's written with the movie in mind.

Word Count: 5.5k

The first time you met Bruce Wayne, you were nervous.

An opening for a butler position was advertised in Gotham's newspaper, and it was insanely lucrative, with a salary upwards of a five digit number you did not dare to say out loud, because you worried you would jinx it.

You were unemployed, and nearing homelessness, if you were being honest. Many of the possessions in your studio apartment had been sold, just so you could get by with meager savings, and still, it wasn’t enough. You were living, but not thriving.

The only minorly concerning thing was that the opening didn’t have much detail, other than to come to a certain location, marked by its latitude and longitude coordinates.

Even typing that into Google gave you nothing, which meant that whoever it was who needed a butler, they were great at encrypting and hiding their data.

You inhaled, and then looked at the article again, noticing one key detail in fine print, right under the ad. A phone number you were supposed to call.

As you called them, a voice filter had been applied to whoever it was, and it created a modulated tone that you could not decipher. You answered a few questions and they agreed to let you be interviewed.

“Please don’t let this be a mistake.” You whispered under your breath, and then took your resume, in a neat little plastic folder, placing it in your backpack. You grabbed your keys and wallet, your only precious belongings, and hoped for the best.

You rode the subway in silence, in quiet reverence that things could get better, if you at least tried. Then, as you left the station, you were on your way down several streets, only outlined by a series of trees and general suburbia. This building was on the outskirts of Gotham City, and it definitely set off the warning bells in your head.

Eventually, you walked up to a gated mansion, an absolutely massive one that looked more akin to a castle, and that was where an older man was waiting. You wondered if you had the right place.

“Are you the girl I spoke with on the phone? Y/n L/n?” He waved at you. The man was wearing a black vest and tie, and he was excited by your presence.

“Ah… yes, that’s me.” You gestured towards yourself with a slight hesitance.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor.” He opened the gate, and let you in, but you were shocked.

“Bruce Wayne’s looking for a butler?” You swallowed in anxiety. “I… I didn’t expect this to be so high end, although that makes sense of all the secrecy.”

“You’re already doing wonderful.” The man had a knowing glance in his eye. “I’m Alfred Pennyworth. You’re the only one who saw the phone number, and you’ve already figured out why we were so cautious.”

“I see.” You walked in to the entrance hall of the Manor, as Alfred kept the door open for you. You fished around in your bag for the plastic folder, and handed it to him, head downwards and solemn.

“Oh. This is your resume?” Alfred took it gently. “We probably won’t need this, because everything about this job involves fresh knowledge and training. There’s not much relevant experience.”

“I’m sorry.” You turned pink, for reasons you were unsure of, but Alfred simply laughed it off.

“Don’t be, it’s still good of you to be prepared.” He brought you into their dining room, a massive sprawling table covered in finery and embellishments, with a low hanging chandelier bathing the area in golden light.

As you sat down, you expected to hear a few things, like what you were currently doing, or just general information about butler work.

Instead, Alfred started talking about why they needed a butler. “As you can probably tell, I am the butler of Wayne Manor. So why hire another one, if it’s just me and Master Wayne taking up space here?”

He looked at you, eyes twinkling, but you had no idea what the older man was getting at. You smiled apologetically, shrugging.

“We need someone for the daytime affairs. He has a pretty… interesting night life nowadays, and he needs me for those hours.” Alfred pointed at you. “Now that’s where you would come in. The job is mostly cleaning the manor, and serving meals and looking after Master Wayne. Please also note that if you accept the job offering, you will be required to stay here, sworn to secrecy.”

“That doesn’t… it’s a lot of money for such a job, no?” You raised your eyebrows. Sure, you weren’t one to complain, but even when you barely had any money, you didn’t want to be overestimated.

“Really? Master Wayne worried that it may have been too little.” Alfred stroked his chin, deep in thought. “No, don’t worry about that. He has the money to spare.”

“Will you take the job?” Alfred asked, and you got the feeling that even though you were the one who was desperate, your possible employers were just as needy as you. He searched your face, and you nodded, even though there were so many possible things wrong with this.

“Great. You start tomorrow.” Alfred waved you off, and you swallowed, nervous and glad all at the same time.

There was a sound at the front door, and you both turned. A tall, pale man had wandered in, and his face was rather gaunt, as if he had just experienced something he wanted to forget. He rubbed his eyes, pulling his long coat around himself, feeling chilly.

“Alfred?” He spoke, and you knew this had to be Bruce Wayne, just from the way he spoke. It surprised you that he sounded like he was looking for his friend.

“Over here, Master Wayne. We’re in the dining hall.” Alfred stood up and walked towards Bruce, and you followed him. “This is Y/n L/n. She’ll be apart of our arrangements from now on.”

“Alright then, Alfred. You did good.” He patted his shoulder, and then looked at you.

Bruce was a good deal taller than you, having to look almost completely downwards to get a look at your face, and he stared for maybe too long, taking in the details of your physique and features, just trying his best to commit it to memory, as he normally would with any thug roaming Gotham City. Not that you were a thug, but Bruce was painfully analytical, and if you were going to work with him in any capacity, he had to know you.

You didn’t know that, though, and you grew anxious, unsure of why he seemed so focused. Then, just as it seemed to long to drag on, he looked away, scratching his temples.

He had stared long enough that his initial reaction was that perhaps you were too pretty for a butler, but Bruce knew that didn’t really make sense. He also could tell that you had sharp eyes, and you certainly looked the type to call him out if he had been ogling you.

And Bruce very much wanted his mental record to state that no, he had not been ogling you.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Bruce gave you his hand, and you shook it, but you were so confused by his tone of voice. You couldn’t get a good read off of him, so you could only assume he was impartial to the whole thing.

Of course, that totally came in place with how billionaires were, and you didn’t think he was being mean. Just possibly very reserved.

You bid them goodbye, and continued on your way to home, all the while thinking that you had either lucked out with this job, or you were definitely about to screw it up.

—---------

The second time you met Bruce Wayne, you could already tell something was off. You didn’t see him very often, instead only in passing while he went out for the day, and you would usually call him for meals, letting him be alone.

You were walking through the manor, dressed in your usual clothes and a Wayne Manor branded apron, and you could not locate him inside. The dark wood floors creaked as you made your way through different, well decorated rooms, searching for the perpetually tired man, so you could tell him his lunch was ready.

Alfred said if Master Wayne is not seen, you can either wait or intercom him. You thought to yourself, fiddling with the soft cotton of your apron. You sighed, knowing that you didn’t want to be paid for nothing, and then pressed on what looked like a flat tablet on the side of the kitchen wall, which immediately prompted a voice call.

There was a brief silence, only interrupted by the call’s beeps as you waited for him to pick up. Billionaire or not, there was such a thing as manners.

At the very last dial tone, Bruce picked up, sounding out of breath. “Hello?”

“Sorry, Master Wayne.” You winced at how hesitant you sounded. “I just wanted to tell you lunch is ready.”

He exhaled a few times, and you wondered if you had caught him at a really bad moment. The poor man sounded out of breath, like he was desperately trying to sound normal, but also giving into something.

“Are you alright?”

There was silence, and you wondered if it was okay to ask that. You didn’t have a good idea of how Bruce felt about the “help,” and you worried he might’ve found this improper behaviour.

“I’m… I’m okay.” He inhaled deeply, and then whispered. “Thank you for asking.”

You shook your head at that, noticing that Bruce did sound genuinely grateful, but it was strange to you. “No big deal, sir.”

“I’ll be there shortly.”

And when Bruce did arrive, he was sweating bullets, his skin clearly clammy and cold to the touch, and you would not take a no for an answer when he nearly refused to sit down.

“You’re heating up, sir.” You held his forehead for a moment, just gentle enough that Bruce easily felt his restraint melting, because he enjoyed being around kind people, even more so people like you who did not realize it. “Take a moment. Rest.”

He agreed, nodding quickly. “Thank you again. I’m not trying to make this difficult.”

Bruce winced, suddenly, clutching his waist, as he seized against the table for a moment, and you looked at him, alarmed.

Deny it. Just deny it. Bruce stared at you, his eyes fluttering shut as he battled with the pain, and the lie. “I stretched a muscle earlier, it still hurts.”

He could tell that didn’t sound plausible, and he could tell you knew, from how you squinted your eyes at his general posture and behaviour. Oh, you were going to think he was such a drama queen, a typical one percent overreactor, a horrible liar, but instead, you shook aside whatever things you thought of him, and tentatively touched his shoulder.

“I’ll get some painkillers.” You stated firmly, no questions asked, and Bruce wondered where you picked that up. Second meeting, and you were already probably confused and questioning him mentally, and instead you were okay with just… this. Okay with his general fucked up nature.

He knew it was part of his job, but still, it pained him that he could get away with lying so easily, surely in part of that he was a billionaire, and he could afford to get away with it.

“Thank you.” Bruce rubbed one of his eyes, hoping he sounded more friendly. Because he didn’t want to take advantage of your innocence to the whole matter, and that was something he never worried about with Alfred.

“That’s my job. No worries.” You smiled at him, unknowingly echoing what he was thinking, and Bruce wondered if everyone had to be a little selfish when working.

You looked at him with a certain compassion that was not just because he was your boss, and Bruce felt a little childlike again.

Like when he first stayed alone, with Alfred, without his parents, he had been so quick to cling to any semblance of warmth in people, and even now, Bruce found he was incapable of letting that go.

“I hope I don’t leave the manor too messy, then?” Bruce tried, after breathing heavily for a few more moments, and you were looking through the medicine cabinet in the ground floor’s washroom for painkillers.

You laughed. “Oh, Master Wayne, it’s like you’re not even here. I feel like this place is haunted sometimes.”

He smiled at that. There had been plenty of times Bruce himself was spooked by the darkness at night, and the gothic architecture around Wayne Manor hadn’t helped. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to get a few more chandeliers in here.”

“That’s alright.” You shook him off. “You don’t need to spend more on account of me.”

“It’s hardly anything-” Bruce began to argue, but he stopped himself, feeling like that was a very wealthy person thing to say. “If you don’t mind me saying that.”

“It’s a different world for people like you.” You acknowledged. “But I’m plenty thankful for what I’m already earning, you don’t need to do anymore than that.”

“Besides,” You continued, not wanting to talk about how poor you had literally just been. “I love to watch Seinfeld reruns on the big TV while I’m cleaning, so I’m kind of cheating you out of your Netflix costs anyways.”

He actually laughed, but quickly shielded it with a cough. Bruce was nothing if not a chronic introvert, and you could see that quite clearly by how he failed to make close eye contact sometimes.

“That’s perfectly fine.” He grabbed the bottle of painkillers from you, and swallowed two pills without water, even though you were holding a glass full anyways. You raised your eyebrows at that, and he couldn’t come up with an alternative reason to why pills were easy for him to digest.

“Who’s your favourite character?” He was quick to distract you.

“Huh?”

“Seinfeld.” Bruce could be a little bit charming when he had to be, and in this case, he liked it, liked watching your eyes stare upwards and your lips stretch into a smile as you thought about it, liked being distracted from the still searing pain of the bruise in his side, given to him by a good beating up from the Penguin.

“Elaine.” You smiled softly. “She’s absolutely a riot.”

“We need that nowadays.” Bruce responded in turn, remembering how he felt as Batman, lost in vengeance and justice and whatever other millions of words he would use to justify his anger. It was odd, but sometimes he really did need to laugh, and not like how that psycho emerald haired man would put it, either.

“Too true.” You answered, and you looked sad for just one brief moment, where Bruce wondered what you were thinking of, until he remembered that you had a right to your past too.

You watched a few episodes of Seinfeld, after that, as Bruce ate his lunch, and you thought your boss maybe wasn’t as cold as you initially thought. You still wanted to know what he was hiding.

—---------

The next time you met Bruce Wayne, you had essentially lost count of how many times you had seen him, because he didn’t hide away as much now. You thought it was nice, that just like any other person, Bruce needed a little time to get to know someone.

It was easy, now, being interchangeable with Alfred, because Bruce was easier to talk to. He would ask you about your day, about if you even ever left Wayne Manor, and you would admit that you did, just for short walks with Ace, Bruce’s dog. Most of the time you were catching up listening to a podcast about Batman.

Bruce had coughed at that, and then you’d often serve him his meal. Every time without fail, he would ask you to eat with him instead of by yourself later on, and you felt something intimate and vulnerable about this, sharing a meal with one of the richest men in the world so casually, like you weren’t a glorified servant, but more akin to a close friend. Lately, during your conversations at meals, he would look at you, not with pity but with deep interest, and it was during these moments that you wanted to know more about him, too. More than he seemed to give on the surface.

Still, wasn't it more than enough? The fact that you got to talk with him so closely, to be let into his life when you should've just been happy with your job, and the money, and your new place to live. You tried your best not to be greedy.

“Master Wayne!” You called up the staircase, but there was no answer from the master bedroom, and you sighed in defeat. You didn’t like going in there when Bruce was still in, because it felt too personal and like you were breaching on his privacy.

You figured you should’ve gotten over that as his butler-friend, but you still saw him as a person worthy of your respect.

The worst part about it was that Bruce was actually rather friendly, in an off beat way, and something about that would flood in his eyes, a resonant affection that made you embarrassed, because you were just his employee, right? No matter how you felt.

And the man just had to be secretly handsome, too. It wasn’t like you to spring onto something like that so quickly, but as you grew closer to him, you couldn’t help but see that Bruce was attractive, even if he tried to cover that up with his longer hair.

You jokingly thought he would have benefited from one of those cheesy 80s montages where his hair would be pulled back with a fancy headband, and some blush would be added to Bruce’s pale skin, but you knew that was part of the look. He made it work.

“Master Wayne!” You called yet again, and when he did not answer, you made your way up the stairs, noticing that some dust had collected on the filigree of the railing and wall.

You were making a mental note to clean that, when you walked in to see Bruce, still partially asleep, having shifted in his bed a little from the sound of your voice.

“Oh, sir…” You gently raised the blanket, and noticed he was shirtless, and then turned a deep red, trying not to think about it.

It wasn’t like this had passed your attention, either: Bruce was ripped.

You had no idea how, because it didn’t really make sense, did it? How would a young billionaire find the time to work out to this extent, where his muscles literally gleamed under the early sunlight, his back flexing as he dreamt about whatever?

“Bruce.” You gently tapped his back, and he awoke suddenly, breathing in as if he had just been under water.

“Oh, Y/n.” Bruce sighed, rubbing his eyes, as if he was forcing himself awake. Bruce never let himself rest for too long. “Is it super late?”

“No, sir, it’s just half an hour past eight.” You were trying your best to look anywhere but at Bruce. “You still have time to get ready for the event.”

Bruce could tell, from the way you were positioning yourself towards the wall, staring at the floor, but not directly away from him, that you noticed him, noticed his body, and he was alarmed to find that he liked this.

Well, it wasn’t like Bruce Wayne wouldn’t have the capability to be a womanizer, but he actively chose against that, instead thinking constantly about how to better Gotham, how to go further in reducing crime.

Now though, he was thinking about how cute it was, that all it took to shut you up was to simply be half naked, and there you were, looking to the side, being respectful, but not so respectful as you would offend him.

You were aware that there was an unspoken genuine friendship between you and Bruce, and your choice to not look at him was obviously born out of the fact that this was your employer- but the fact that you stayed close, near the bed, indicated something else.

That you did like him, and you weren’t pushing it away.

Bruce opened his mouth when you finally turned to look at him, and instead, you tilted your head, pointing at his face.

“Sir-”

“You don’t need to call me sir.” He interjected, and you wondered why. Bruce had always been okay with that in the past. In truth, it was because he wanted to be selfish- to be even closer to you, even though he shouldn’t- but he just wanted to feel it for a moment, that you were not just his butler.

He sat up in his bed, and he noticed too late what had rubbed away on his hands.

Stupid, stupid Bruce. He swallowed, because there was black eyeliner smudged all over his fingers, and it was surely on his eyes too.

The one time he went to bed without washing his face, instead tossing his cowl and Batsuit into the cave without a single extra thought in his mind, that was the only time that of course, you decided to come to wake him up.

It was kind of Bruce’s fault for staying out so late, too. His mind hadn’t been clear.

He began to speak, again, but instead, you sat in front of him on his bed, and gently touched his face, his cheekbone, smearing the black paint with the tip of your thumb. It was so soft that Bruce nearly shivered, nearly convulsed at the juxtaposition here, that you were always gentle with him when he in fact went through the wringer, time and time again, out of his own choices.

Did you know that? Did you know, about him, now? Bruce felt like it was obvious, and if you didn’t know, you were going to figure it out on your own soon.

“I didn’t know you were one for makeup.” You finally whispered, looking at the black pigment on your fingertips. It was another clue to everything weird about Bruce.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” Bruce retorted quietly, running his hands through his hair. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not.” You gave him a sly look, touching his face once more, now causing the black makeup to smear further, on purpose, messing it up even more than it had been from his sleep. “It’s cute, I think.”

“Cute?”

“Like Kurt Cobain, Master Wayne.” You clarified, but he stiffened, staring into your eyes.

“You can say Bruce.” He reminded you, because you had woken him up with the sound of his name, and Bruce knew it was selfish, probably a massive power imbalance to ask his employee for this, but he wanted to anyways, because he loved it. He loved hearing your voice call him with no other pretenses.

Maybe being cooped up in here with you was doing a number on him, but he didn’t care anymore, and he inched closer to you, watching your eyes flicker, grazing over all of his features, and his body.

He liked you a lot, he found, and maybe it was because Bruce was a little unhealthy with relationships -always becoming quickly clingy due to his abandonment issues- but now he knew that if you didn’t like this, he would take your word for it and stop.

“Alfred calls you Master Wayne.”

“Alfred’s not you.” And as Bruce said it, he could see you wanted to correct him, from how your mouth parted with some empty suggestion. You wanted to tell him that you were the same as his father figure, but you knew that wasn’t true.

Bruce stared at your soft lips, still parted, just the slightest bit wet from how your tongue was darting out to speak, and before he really got a moment to pull himself back -to make things at least ethical- he pulled you in, face cradled in his hands, and kissed you without hesitation.

He felt you kiss back, your mouth still parted, as if this was what you wanted to say, that you were different than Alfred to Bruce, and that was fine, it was great, even, that your lips happened to meet his perfectly, and you had been wanting to tell him how delectable he looked, perhaps how the both of you looked together, and this was what you were thinking, as your hands came upwards to rest on his chest.

To Bruce, you were you, special, pretty, and vibrant, easily clever and meticulous in all the ways that mattered, and that was good, too, because he never liked the ignorant people of the world. He liked you as soon as you checked up on him, not for a bonus tip or something idiotic that he would’ve given you anyways, but because you were just that sweet.

He thought that again as he pulled your waist in closer to him, that you were an honest-to-god sweetheart, and it still pained him to be this selfish, to lie and to have you too, but Bruce wasn’t thinking straight, or at least fair, this morning, and he didn’t want to stop kissing you, to feel a tender embrace over the agony that he typically felt, as you sat there, basically on his lap, pressed against his chest.

His hands came up around yours, feeling the murky black makeup spread between your intertwined fingers, as Batman’s line of work usually did.

Everything was messy with him.

—---------

Bruce didn’t know how to talk to you after that.

He blamed himself, most of all, because this had come up entirely out of the blue, and he didn’t have a chance to rectify this -something that could’ve been a mistake to you, he didn’t exactly know how you felt about it- and he just didn’t know what to say.

It should’ve been easy. Bruce had stricken up a conversation with you numerous times before, and now instead he was hiding, waiting, trying his best to just ignore this, but not because he wanted to ignore you. In fact, he worried that he hurt you by coming so close, and he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Bruce was hiding out in the Bat Cave. It was definitely not as cool as he originally thought the Bat Cave was, in his early days, because he was lonely here, and he really felt it because of your absence.

Never, not even once, had you tried to speak to Bruce after you noticed his silence. You were that kind of girl, not the type to extend an olive branch if the other side didn’t deserve it. You had fair judgement in this case.

“Bruce?”

Your voice was coming from far, up above, where Bruce thought you would never find him, but he wasn’t that stupid. He knew you had been so close to figuring it out, and here you were.

“I’m here.” His voice was deeper, raspy, and he couldn’t help that. Not when he was in the suit, it was like something came over him.

You walked down the dusty, old rickety steps of Wayne Manor’s basement, and found Batman sitting in front of a bunch of computers, and you wanted to scream at him. For leaving you completely ghosted for the last few days.

Instead, you leaned against the railing, and looked at him, crossing your arms. “I knew you were Batman.”

“...”

“Not going to say anything?” You remarked, and you turned on your heel to walk away, annoyed that you had let yourself be a rich man’s play thing, but even worse, you convinced yourself to care for him.

Batman came forward, power and menace and strength in every step, his cape flowing behind him, and you understood for a brief millisecond how he looked so muscular.

"Don't tell anyone." He grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your place, and you startled, warming at the close proximity of Bruce, and how you were sandwiched between him and the railing. "It's not for everyone to know."

"Obviously, otherwise Batman wouldn't be such a mystery." You chided him, and Bruce looked just a teeny bit embarrassed, although he did not let go. "Stop worrying about that, Bruce. I won't."

You tried, again, to escape his grasp, but of course, Batman was incredibly strong.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, and you looked up at him, into his eyes, and it was true. Bruce’s eyes were heavy with grief. “I shouldn’t have-”

“Shouldn’t have kissed me?” You narrowed your eyes. “Well, dumbass, the damage is done. I already- well, that doesn’t matter- ugh. I have to quit, okay?”

He shook his head. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.” You insisted, and Bruce let you go for a moment, and you jabbed your finger into his chest. It was more likely to hurt you, but you didn’t care. “I refuse to be this, okay? I’m not a little girl. I can’t be thrown around like a toy, I have my own rights, and I get it, it was a mistake for you. Well, it wasn’t a mistake for me!”

He was shocked into silence, that you did indeed like him, just as much as he had been itching to hear you say, but you kept going.

“Let me guess? You don’t want to associate with a poor woman?” You inhaled, brevity getting the better of you. “Is it because I’m just not good enough?”

Bruce didn’t know how to counteract this properly, not when you were clearly spewing things you had been thinking of this entire time, so he hugged you, a nearly bone crushing hug, which did shut you up, as your face was too nestled into his suit to say anything.

“You’re too good.” He murmured under his breath, but you heard him loud and clear. “You’re too good to be around someone like me.”

“That’s not-” Your voice was muffled, but Bruce held you tighter.

“I didn’t make a mistake when I kissed you, I wanted to do that. And not just because you’re pretty- I really do like you. No matter your ‘class’, you of all people should know I don’t believe in that bullshit.” He assured you, and he felt your fists drop, as you stopped pushing against him. “My only mistake was not asking how you felt.”

“Then… why did you leave me?” You softened up a little, staring up at him again.

Bruce closed his eyes. “Because I was worried. I worried that you didn’t like me, that I pushed something when I shouldn’t have, which I do a lot to people I care about, and I didn’t want to hurt you- I always hurt people- so I did the best thing and removed myself from the situation.”

He felt your palm come upwards to his face, as you tenderly stroked his cheek with your thumb. Forgiveness seemed apparent on your face.

“You only hurt me when you didn’t talk to me, Bruce. You have to tell me these things, I would never know otherwise.” You whispered, and he felt so guilty- so angry with himself, that he had left you high and dry for those days.

“I guess I am pretty selfish.” He admitted, but you shook your head.

“I think we all are.” You smiled faintly at him, and he nodded. “I always thought I was going too far, you know? First you give me a salary way above my pay grade- so now I'm not gonna have to worry about being homeless. Then you decided to let me live here, too. I thought you would think I was just being greedy."

"No. You’re not… I didn’t even know that. For you, I would buy anything. Anything.” Bruce stared at you, and he wasn’t just saying a mindless platitude, in fact, you could see that he was desperately serious. “You have every right to think I was using you, not the other way around.”

“I did. I know you’re not, now.” You hugged him back, feeling his arms squeeze you. “...I think I liked it better when you were selfish before, though.”

Bruce knew what you were talking about. “Really, how interesting of you to say that.”

He leaned down as much as he possibly could, and you reached up, your face just a inch or so away from his.

“Tell me you like me.” He uttered, deep, as Batman, and you beamed, blushing, because it was a little nerdy, but mostly hot, and that was definitely Bruce for you.

“I love you.” You remarked, and you saw him turn pink at that, which pleased you.

You kissed him, sweet as ever, and Bruce pulled you upwards so he didn’t have to lean so low, thinking the entire time that you were a very welcome addition to Wayne Manor, after all.

Batler

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